


The Wicked and the Wise

by lea_hazel



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Banter, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fallen London Lore, Fallen London Spoilers, Flirting, Friendly Enemies, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: Unfinished business in the private study of an eminent citizen, in the midst of a rather scandalous salon.





	The Wicked and the Wise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie/gifts).



"Hello, petal."

The man known to most of London as the Jovial Contrarian was currently occupying an overstuffed armchair in the private study of one of the city's more _significant_ individuals. It was not like him to shun the crowds. His friends would have worried about him, if he'd had any of the sort of friends who worry about one, when one is so obviously out of sorts. In fact he had very few friends at all, though friendly enemies aplenty.

The lady in the red satin gown strolled leisurely into the darkened room, letting the door click shut in her wake.

"Why are you sulking in here, all alone in the dark, petal?" she asked. "Don't tell me your rapier wit has dulled at last? Has the master debater finally grown tired of debate?"

"Perish the thought," he replied, unable to resist the bait.

She smiled a wide, satisfied cat smile. "There we are," she said. "I knew you weren't lost to the winds just yet."

"No," he said. "Not yet."

"Cheer up, petal," said the woman, taking her seat on the armrest of the chair he was currently occupying. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"I achieved what I set out to achieve," he corrected her. "A subtle, but important distinction."

She straightened up on her precarious perch, her eyes and tongue both grown suddenly sharp. "There's truly nothing more tiresome than a man who desires a thing only until he has it," she said, in acid tones.

"Come, now, Jenny," said the Contrarian, trying for a placating smile. "Don't judge me as harshly as all that. Surely you know better than anyone what a difficult position I am in."

"That's no reason to scorn the company of our estimable hosts," said Jenny, "and their distinguished guests. My, but I've never _seen_ such an eclectic bunch. Where else would you imagine two such personages as ourselves would be likely to meet, of an evening? Belonging, as we do, to vastly disparate strata of society." Now she was getting comfortable, leaning back in her seat, stretching her gloved arm over the chair's back.

"Where else?" asked the Contrarian amused. "Except in the polling booths, but perhaps that was an exceptional occasion."

"Now that we are no longer rivals, petal," said Jenny, "there's nothing preventing us being friends."

"An intriguing proposition," he replied.

Jenny's mouth twisted into a frown. "Intriguing? Is that all?"

He laughed. "Did I offend the lady's vanity?" he asked. "I assure you, I meant no offense. There are technical impediments to our friendship, you see. And we do run in widely divergent social circles, as you have said."

"Pshaw," said Jenny. "I didn't ask you to invite me to one of your vaunted councils. Do they audit your friends as well? And as for impediments... Since you were so _gracious_ as to allude to my profession, I can also reassure you that I'm a veteran at overcoming such technical matters."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

"You would be surprised," said Jenny, "and amazed. Among variegated other emotions."

"I will keep that in mind," replied the Contrarian, "since we are no longer rivals. Perhaps, though, the private apartments of our delightful host are not the best theater for scientific experiments."

She laughed. "Our convivial host has seen and heard a great many things stranger," she said, "and more indelicate. How else do you think we met?"

"Professionally?" he suggested.

"Close," said Jenny with a smile. "They came into the city from the surface, via New Newgate, where I have some associates. I didn't first learn of their goings-on until they had descended into the city proper and found gainful employment. Of a sort. The most disreputable sort. By then they had fallen into the worst sort of society," she concluded, sighing dramatically, "and their fate was sealed."

"Pickpockets?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Poets."

"Intriguing," said the Contrarian. "I first met our host at a salon rather a lot like this one, but duller. They were so good as to debate the rights of Clay Men with me, for nearly a full hour. Quite impressive endurance, for one so young, I must give credit. Made the whole interminable affair practically scintillating."

"How utterly civilized of them," said Jenny. "I imagine they were trying to rescue the rest of the party from _your_ tender mercies, rather than the other way around, as you assume."

He laughed. "Just as likely," he said, "although that was only our first _formal_ acquaintance. Our earliest encounter, as I recollect it, was far less -- how did you say? _Civilized_."

"Gossip, is it?" said Jenny, leaning forward in her seat with sparkling eyes. "How delicious. Do tell."

"I'm almost certain," said the Contrarian, "that I first encountered them in the carnival, some months earlier. They lifted a bag full of moon pearls right out of my pocket. I may have glimpsed them relieve some other celebrants of similar burdens. I'm afraid it caused me to form quite an ill opinion of an undoubtedly venerable persona."

Jenny was still listening avidly, her legs crossed and her chin resting on her elbow.

"So you see, Jenny," he said, with a growing smile, "our acquaintance is not so far apart as you might first assume."

"You didn't call the coppers?" she asked. "Try to get your money back?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever for? It was only a few carnival tickets' worth, and it looked like they were going to enjoy them a great deal more than I did. Mrs. Plenty's anatomical exhibition is an absolute sham, did you know? Not even a very interesting sham at that. And I next spotted them headed for the abyssal wheel, walking with great purpose."

Jenny shuddered.

"Oh yes," said the Contrarian. "You couldn't pay me to ride in that thing, even if it could accommodate me. There are some questions I prefer unanswered."

"Likewise," said his companion, collapsing back into her poised, almost elegant lady-of-the-night persona.

"Really?" asked the Contrarian. "I would have thought your associations would have led you down that path, on more than one occasion."

"Perhaps," said Jenny, "they have. Perhaps it's _because_ I learned too much that I decided to renounce my masters. When will you do the same?"

He leaned back in his seat, cording his fingers together. "You misjudge me, Jenny. Things aren't as simple as all that."

She barked out a laugh at that, as unlike her rich, rolling laugh of earlier as a raptor is unlike a bat. "Imagine speaking to _me_ of being misjudged." She fanned herself with her hand theatrically.

"And to the other thing, you have no retort?" asked the Contrarian.

Jenny got up, sweeping her extensive skirt train out of the way. For a flash of a moment, he got a glimpse of a pair of modish dancing slippers, and above them a switch of scarlet red so bright, the vivid satin of her gown faded in comparison. She stalked to the doorway and paused, her gloved hand hovering just above the door handle.

He recognized his cue. "Don't leave, please," he said. "We were having such a stimulating conversation."

Jenny turned with a dramatic flare of her skirt, regarding him coolly from under her heavily shaded eyelashes. "I meant what I said before, you know," she said to him. "No one becomes anyone who is listened to in this city without making a devil's bargain or two in the process, and you can count your blessings if they're not literal ones, at that. So yes, I've made mistakes. Alliances that I regret. I'm not too proud to admit that."

He leaned towards her, steepling his fingers. "What regrets would you like me to admit to, exactly?"

"I don't know, August," said Jenny. "Why don't you tell me?"

He straightened up abruptly. "No one calls me that."

"A patented lie," said Jenny. "Really? I thought you were better than that."

"I'm thrilled to know you've thought of me at all," he replied.

The quip fell flat.

"It seemed like a grand joke, at the time," he said, into the silence. He wasn't looking at her anymore, just staring at an invisible spot on the wallpaper, some six inches above her shoulder.

Jenny flattened back, lounging against the door frame. "What did?" she asked.

He waved a hand vaguely. "Oh, all of it. But especially the name. Hiding in plain sight, you know."

She nodded, though she knew that he couldn't see her.

"It's true what they say," he said, with a deep sigh. "Anything you let yourself care about can hurt you. You'd better get back to our eminent host, though, before you're missed. Season's greetings to you. Or, I suppose I should say, ' _to the wicked and the wise_ '."

_Secrets and lies. Secrets and lies._

"I'm _not_ leaving you here to sit sullenly in the dark," she objected fiercely. "Not on the season of tears."

"Yes, you are," he said firmly. "I'll be out in a moment or two. Don't waste your worry on me."

"August."

He looked up only to glare at her. "Don't."

She spread out her hands helplessly. "I can't just--"

"Jen," he said, "just go. I'll be out in a minute."

She sighed and deflated. "If you insist." With the door already opened a crack, she hesitated and turned to say over her shoulder, "Should I leave the lights?"

"Don't bother," he replied. "I'll get them."

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with my characterization. I hope my interpretation is to your liking.


End file.
